An Insignificant Gesture of Sad Memory

My mother died on a Sunday, 22nd March, at around 11:30 a.m. My 11 year old son was at home at the time, he was sleeping when we left to go to the hospital to see his grandmother.

My mother had suffered a stroke; she fell asleep and never woke up. That Sunday morning was her last - in this world at least.

I am not quite sure what happened when it happened, how things were taken care of, who dealt with paper work and how. I remember a doctor giving me a certificate, and then we were home.

My son, awake, came to the door, holding a small ball -- obviously he had been playing around.

I tried to put it in a roundabout way. My son would not accept what happened until he heard spelled out clearly.
Grandmother is dead.

He started crying, then all of a sudden he threw down the ball and went to the phone crying "I don't believe it".

He picked up the phone and rang his grandmother, as he always did.

Nobody answered.


This insignificantly small gesture, a desperate attempt to negate reality, has remained a vivid memory. An eleven year old yearning for some magic to make the nightmare go away.